Sorry, Honey, but it's for Work
by LadyDivine91
Summary: Kurt got a promotion, and every month he writes an article, occasionally based on things Isabelle decides to torture him with. Klaine. Kurt H. Blaine A.
1. Post-Workout Workout

**With Kurt's new promotion, comes a brand new feature article that he gets to write. But it also comes with some interesting requirements, courtesy of his boss, Isabelle Wright.**

 _ **Notes: This series actually starts with the story 'A First Look to Remember', which is around here somewhere xD, but this one pretty much explains what this series is about. Basically, Kurt got a promotion, and every month he writes an article, occasionally based on things Isabelle decides to torture him with xD Inspired by this article - sex/a20510107/sex-after-a-workout-benefits/**_

It's a struggle to get through the door of their apartment with the two of them locked together at the lips since they got off the elevator. But the moment Kurt saw that the hallway leading to their place was vacant, he leapt on his husband like a serval in heat, clawing at Blaine's shirt and assaulting his mouth with a mixture of lust and _disgust_. Blaine doesn't mind the distressed whimpers and the gasping for air that follows Kurt's attempts to kiss Blaine while not breathing through his nose. He finds it kind of funny, the sacrifices his poor husband has to make for his job.

Of all the directions Kurt saw his career at _Vogue_ going, he could have never foreseen this one.

Kurt recently earned a promotion, one that helped fund their move from the quaint (but ultimately unsafe) Bushwick loft they had been so fond of to an Upper East Side apartment. Instead of just being Isabelle Wright's assistant, Kurt got his own feature online and in every magazine. He describes it as a cross between _Queer Eye_ and _The View_ , with a dash of _Fashion Police_ thrown in, which gives Kurt an opportunity to showcase his impeccable style, but also let his catty flag soar. For the most part, he comes up with his own topic ideas, but every so often Isabelle will read an article on the _Women's Health_ website or watch a BuzzFeed video that makes a lightbulb go off in her head. She'll inbox Kurt and _boom_. That's his topic for the month.

Every time he texts Blaine one of Isabelle's ideas, along with the tagline, "Sorry, honey, but it's for work," Blaine knows that he's in for one interesting night.

Today's assignment – post-workout sex is the best sex _ever_!

The second Blaine read that, he knew this was going to be challenging, to say the least.

Kurt doesn't particular like to be intimate when they're sweaty. He's gotten better the past few years about handling his germaphobia (traveling the New York subway system twice daily will do that for you), but getting sweaty while intimate is something he tries to avoid. And when it does happen, he strips the sheets off the bed and hops straight into the shower.

"Do you know how much bacteria there is in sweat?" he once scolded Blaine when Blaine suggested that they leave it till morning. "We'll both be covered in bacne by the time we wake up, and that's not something I want to deal with!"

But for this assignment, Kurt went all out, which is to say he booked two hours with a personal trainer willing to take on both of them at one of the toughest, hardcore gyms in New York – Dogpound - and run them through the paces of a professional boxer/MMA fighter/figure skater/pro tennis player. Their trainer had them doing squats galore, swinging kettlebells, flipping tractor tires, and whipping ropes with few to no breaks in between. He even had them throw on gloves and spar one another in the boxing ring.

Kurt and Blaine haven't had a good history going head to head, but now that they're in a better place in their relationship, this time, it was hot as _fuck_!

When they were finished, they were both sweaty, sore … and ready to go.

They would have made a scene, climbing all over one another in the subway car home, if it wasn't packed like a sardine can. But even that – having to wait, the anticipation, staring at one another within the confines of the crowd, knowing what was to come – was an incredible turn on.

But now that the moment has arrived, Blaine can tell some of Kurt's enthusiasm has worn off, especially as they begin to undress, the sweat from their clothes literally flying off their bodies, the summer night having kept them uncomfortably moist on the trip home.

"Now, are you _sure_ about this?" Blaine asks as he peels Kurt's soaking wet tee up his torso.

"Yes …" Kurt replies unconvincingly, but follows up with, "God! If I had a dollar for every time you've asked me that before sex, I'd be a Kardashian!"

"I'm just saying we can _ease_ into this. We don't have to go this hard the first time."

"So what do you suggest?" Kurt slips his thumbs into Blaine's waistband, shuddering from the stickiness underneath.

"Maybe a jog?" Blaine says, removing his husband's shirt the rest of the way with a little more finesse. "A nice, easy jog around the block. That should get our hearts pumping, don't you think?"

Kurt considers it while Blaine pulls down his running shorts, dropping small pecks along Kurt's hips as he does his best to seduce him. And Kurt tries to let him, tries to get lost in the tantalizing sensation of those teasing kisses as the travel towards his crotch, recalling the words of the articles he read while doing his "research".

Point one: after a workout – especially an intense workout like the one they just had – their hormones are going haywire.

 _That_ he believes. Watching Blaine punch a bag for the first time since high school – his muscles bulging, shoulders tensing, brow furrowed in concentration – made Kurt so damned hard that taking his turn on the rowing machine was torture!

Which was point number two. Exercise increases blood flow, even south of the equator.

After watching Blaine give his all flipping tires down the street, watching other men and women at the gym eye him covetously knowing that _they_ got to look but _Kurt_ got to touch, so much of Kurt's blood had migrated south, his head began to spin.

But point three – _that's_ the point he's stuck on.

The point where the scent coming off their bodies might increase sexual attraction.

Blaine always smells good, even when he sweats, but that's, in part, due to the maximum strength deodorant and the body spray he wears. But the articles Kurt read went deeper into the science behind smell as it pertained to exercise.

 _When you sweat_ , they said, _your body is releasing bacteria that's breaking down the sweat molecules._

 _…_

 _Yuck_.

And at the current time, Blaine is heading recklessly for the one spot on Kurt's body that had been hidden not only by his workout clothes, but his underwear. Underwear he'd been wearing all … day … long. A dark, warm, humid place, like a petri dish, where yeasts and germs may be lurking, waiting for their chance to blossom because Kurt waited a half-an-hour too long to take a shower.

When Blaine finally reaches it - buries his nose over Kurt's cock and breathes in deep, starting to take him in his mouth – Kurt recoils, so grossed out by the thought of Blaine's face in that bedlam of microorganisms that he not only leaps back, but shoves his poor husband hard enough to send him sprawling on his back.

"Kurt!"

Blaine stares up at Kurt in shock, eyes dancing with a laugh he's just barely holding back as Kurt wails, "I … I can't! We're just so _sweaty_!"

"I know, I know. That's okay." Blaine rolls to his knees and rises to his feet. "At least you tried."

"But _tried_ isn't good enough! I have to _do_! I have to do, and I have to write about it for next month's issue! Or else … or else …"

Or else … nothing really, he realizes. If he tells Isabelle he failed to pull this off, she'd laugh like crazy, but let him pick his own topic to replace this one. No harm, no foul. It's the principle of the thing. Kurt doesn't like to admit defeat.

And admitting defeat over kinky, filthy sex with his husband – that's plain embarrassing.

"You have the week," Blaine reminds him, laying a comforting hand on his husband's shoulder. Well, not really. He makes the gesture, letting his hand hover above – a show of support without triggering Kurt with any further sweaty contact. "We'll get another chance." Blaine bites his lower lip, grinning while a thought of _how_ they can solve his husband's dilemma pops into his head. "Besides, there _still_ might be a way we can swing post-workout sex _without_ all the sweat."

Kurt arches an eyebrow. He would cross his arms, but he doesn't even want to touch himself. "How?"

"If we do it in the shower."

"You're brilliant!" Kurt grins, his eyes alight with the possibilities. He leans in to kiss Blaine's cheek, but stops short when he sees a bead of sweat coagulated in the spot. He blows him that one, silently promising to make up for it in five minutes. "And that's why I married you."


	2. Blush

**Summary:**

 **Kurt is determined to give his husband the best orgasm of his life ... for research.**

"Kurt … _mmm_ , Kurt …"

"Yes?" Kurt murmurs, a smile of pure bliss on his face, thoroughly enjoying the position he's put his poor, suffering husband in.

" _Please_!"

"Not yet, darling. Not yet. Just a little while longer. Remember, this is for research."

Blaine tugs on the cuffs locking his wrists above his head. There's a pair around each ankle, too, keeping his legs spread. He digs his heels into the mattress, subconsciously raising his hips, but instead of urging Kurt on, that makes him back away, and Blaine slumps like a lump of overcooked spaghetti. "I … I don't think I can take much more of this!"

"But aren't you enjoying yourself, my love?"

"I … I am! _God_ , I am! I'm just … I'm going to go out of my mind in a minute if you don't let me cum!"

"That's the point!" Kurt sinks slowly down the length of his husband's cock, then slides just as slowly back up. Blaine's thighs tremble so hard he makes the whole bed shake. "If this isn't the best orgasm you've ever had, then I won't be able to make an accurate comparison!"

"Well …" Blaine swallows hard, unsure if the next words out of his mouth are going to help his current situation or make it worse. Lack of blood to the brain can cause lapses in better judgment. He hopes that's of some comfort to him when he's out of these cuffs and suffering from a severe case of blue balls "… I don't think it'll ever be _first_. It has the potential to be in the top three."

Kurt pulls away, leaving Blaine cold. Blaine whines through his teeth in frustration, tugging at the cuffs with enough force to dent the bed.

"Why? Why can't it be first, Blaine?" Kurt asks, his voice as icy as the air around Blaine's cock. Blaine has had two other lovers beside Kurt. As Kurt glares at his husband from between his legs, he wonders - could Blaine honestly be referring to either of them right now? Kurt has never thought of this before, but it is possible that one of them might hold one of those top spots. One of those lovers was an online hookup and a one-night stand all rolled into one. Even though it pretty much destroyed their relationship for a while, the concept has the potential to jettison it into a coveted super-hot fantasy slot.

"B-because first will always be our wedding night," Blaine says.

"And second?" Kurt asks, though he recognizes he should be happy with Blaine's answer and stop there. Even if just for now. Otherwise everything they've been doing for the past 45 minutes might plummet downhill real quick.

"O-our first time."

"Oh. Okay. That's alright then," Kurt says, contentedly going back to the masterful blowjob he's giving.

" _Kurt_ ," Blaine moans, his entire body quaking, the cuffs around his wrists and ankles chattering like teeth in anticipation. He's so close to the edge he can taste it. The payoff from this promises to be glorious, but the trade-off has been the metal cuffs digging into his skin, the constant stream of sweat rolling down his back, and the tension in his abs threatening to give him one hell of a cramp. But now that this blowjob is back in full swing, and with no sign of stopping, Blaine begins to relax a little more, follow the flow of Kurt's mouth and his tongue, which have been massaging him ruthlessly since Kurt got home from work with his latest _Vogue_ assignment.

Kurt has to realize that if he stops now, this will have been all for naught. He'll have ruined Blaine's orgasm, and they'll need to start over again later.

Unless that's been Kurt's plan all along - to build on this orgasm, and possibly subsequent orgasms, to create one super-orgasm.

If that is Kurt's plan, Blaine's not going to lie.

He _will_ cry.

Blaine's eyelids flutter shut. His head rolls back on his pillow. His hips climb up once again but Kurt does nothing to stop them, and he doesn't back away. Blaine starts a soft, wavering chant of, "Yes, yes, yes, yes …" - a sure sign that he's going to cum whether Kurt wants him to or not.

And Kurt keeps going.

As far as Blaine's body is concerned, there's no turning back now.

His arms yank down, his knees curl up, straining their bindings to their bitter ends. The chanting stops, Blaine's mouth stuck open mid _yes_ , and Kurt knows that's his cue. He lubes up two fingers and slips them carefully inside his husband's ass …

… and the rest his history.

"Oh … _God_!" Blaine moans, his hips snapping up and stopping as he cums sloppily in his husband's mouth. Kurt stops and holds him, enveloping him in the heat created by his lips closed around his cock. He breathes in deep through his nose and then takes Blaine down his throat for one last swallow, gifted with a shuddering gasp and a sigh when he does so. "Oh … oh God … oh God …" Blaine mutters, lips loosely repeating the same two words over and over as his body tries to recover from what has to be the greatest orgasm in the history of his existence on earth.

"How do you feel, baby?" Kurt asks, subtly spitting into a nearby towel as he attempts to catch his breath.

"I …" Blaine starts, but he doesn't have enough working brain cells to help him finish, so he reverts back to his original response of "… oh _God_ …"

Kurt grins, giving himself a mental pat on the back when he gets a better view of the gorgeous mess that is his sated husband – bent knees, slack arms, heaving chest, flushed face …

That's when Kurt remembers!

 _Research_!

"Hold on, hold on!" Kurt scrambles up the bed, reaching for his bedside table and fumbling with the contents inside – tissues; lube; condoms; Tic-Tacs; half a Power Bar, hard as a rock (must be Blaine's. Yikes! How long has _that_ been there!?) – until he finds the NARS blush Isabelle gave him before he left work. He kneels beside Blaine's torso and pops it open. He swipes a finger through the peachy-pink block of color, which he then applies to Blaine's bicep resting on the bed beside his face. He pulls out his cell phone and snaps a few pics, alternating between flash and no flash, trying to get the best image of the two shades side by side – Blaine's flushed cheek and this swatch of Orgasm blush. Kurt swipes through the photos he's taken and finds the best one. He zooms in, examines it closely and smiles.

"Well I'll be … look at that!" Kurt shows Blaine the picture. Blaine opens his eyes a slit to see, but in his loopy state, it's nowhere near in focus. "It's not an exact perfect match, but it's pretty damned close!"

"That's … that's great," Blaine pants, shifting back and forth, rolling out his shoulders and ankles before they go numb.

"I actually prefer the natural color of your skin, of course, but this is a very complementary all around shade for an everyday glow. Plus, it looks incredible on you."

"Thank you?" Blaine watches with concern as his husband gets up off the bed, looking at the photo, and hurries out of the room. "Uh, Kurt? Kurt! Where are you going!?"

"I'm sorry, Blaine, but my head is swirling with ideas! I have to type up a few things before I forget! Isabelle wants the article before the morning!"

"That's … that's great, honey," Blaine calls after him, eyes locked on Kurt's pale butt as he hurries down the hall to his studio, "but, do you think maybe … can you unlock me first!? … Kurt!? … I have to go to the bathroom …!"


	3. Grapefruit Blowjob

**Summary:**

 **Isabelle comes up with yet another way to torture her favorite employee - this time using a sexual technique she found on Pinterest. And the research continues!**

"You're going to do what to my what now?"

Kurt's head drops, the fruit in his hand resting on the mattress as Blaine tries his best not to giggle at his poor, defeated-looking husband.

"I'm sorry," Kurt says with a heavy sigh, "but it's for work."

"Ah. Another one of Isabelle's bright ideas."

"Should I not have taken this promotion?" Kurt gazes forlornly at the grapefruit he's carrying, two ends removed leaving a thick center slice lined on the inside with triangular segments that jut towards the middle and look very much like bright pink teeth. It more resembles a medieval torture device than a makeshift sexual aid. "All it seems to be doing is giving my boss new and kinky ways to torment us."

"We've had sex in the presence of food before, so I don't know how kinky this rates."

"It gets worse," Kurt mumbles.

Blaine raises an eyebrow. "Worse _how_?"

"Well, the original idea behind the grapefruit bj is it's supposed to simulate …" Kurt sighs "… _vaginal_ sex."

Blaine's second eyebrow rises up to meet the first. "Okay …"

"But you can just think of it as a weird fleshjack with a ton too much lube."

"You know, as sexy as it is doing _anything_ with you, you're not really selling this one all that well."

Kurt's shoulders slump. "Should I not have told you that part?"

"No …?"

"You don't sound too convincing."

"Look, does this end with me getting a blowjob?"

"Yes, it does."

"Then it doesn't matter to me _what_ it's supposed to simulate, as long as I get your mouth on me. I only have one more question."

"And what's that?"

"Why did you cover the bed in plastic?" Blaine lifts his ass off the sheet beneath him, a symphony of crackling accompanying his every move. It reminds him of the dust covers his grandmother used to keep on her furniture so it wouldn't get dirty.

Dear God! Why did he have to think about his nana at a time like this?

 _Welp. There goes the boner,_ Blaine thinks, glancing down and watching his erection wither, hoping Kurt doesn't notice and become discouraged. This grapefruit thing had better be worth the Pinterest board Isabelle found it on because Blaine may have sabotaged Kurt before they even started.

"I didn't want the acid in the grapefruit juice bleaching my Lauren Ashley sheets," Kurt says, eyes so fixated on Blaine's face, probably to gauge his reaction to this weirdness, that he doesn't seem to realize an important player in this scenario has been temporarily sidelined.

"Good call." Blaine readjusts his position on the mattress to draw attention away from his rapidly shrinking cock. "Well, let's get this party started. Make with the grapefruit!"

"Alright-y then!" Kurt says, trying to drum up enthusiasm for the heathenistic ritual they're about to perform. "Wait … you haven't done any man-scaping lately, have you?"

"No. Why?"

"Well, razor burn might make this excruciating."

"Good point."

Kurt climbs on the bed and settles between his husband's legs with the same energy a gynecologist has when they're about to examine a patient. He sets the grapefruit to the side since this little adventure begins with a regular old bj to get Blaine hard enough to slip the grapefruit over. But to have the grapefruit sitting there, waiting to be used, fills Kurt with a strange sense of anxiety.

Kurt isn't exactly a citrus person. He doesn't mind the taste, but everything else about it bothers him.

There's the stomachache he gets after eating it.

Or the way it can help you locate every single cut on your hands or in your mouth.

He's not fond of the stinging eyes three hours after when you rub them, certain you've washed your hands at least twice since the last time you've peeled your orange or grapefruit, only to be proven horribly wrong.

Bearing that in mind, he doesn't want to inflict any of this on his husband. Blaine doesn't deserve that. He's just an innocent bystander in this bizarre attempt by his boss to make him regret accepting this promotion.

But he'll deal with the issue of Isabelle later.

Kurt takes his husband's flaccid cock in his mouth and begins to suck, biding his time and his technique in the hopes of having the opportunity to properly prepare for what comes next. Blaine must feel anxious, too, because he doesn't react right away – doesn't moan or gasp, and he doesn't relax, his legs tense with his knees bent, adding to the clinical milieu. But eventually (and accompanied by the creepy sound of creaking plastic), Blaine starts to unwind. His hands unclench, he breathes in deep, and his legs slide down onto the mattress.

"Okay," Kurt murmurs, doing his best not to jar Blaine out of the state of relaxation he's in, "I'm going to go ahead and begin."

 _Yup_ , Kurt thinks after saying that in his soothing voice. _Gynecology. He missed his calling._

Kurt fits the hole over the head of his husband's cock and slowly slides the grapefruit on, squeezing as he goes. As it travels down, Blaine sits up, the expression on his face a mixture of arousal, curiosity, and alarm.

"First impressions?" Kurt asks.

Blaine tilts his head, looking straight ahead, reviewing his own thoughts. "It feels … warm?"

"In a good way or a bad way?"

"An _unsettling_ way?"

"How unsettling?"

"I feel like … I don't know …" Kurt stops stroking as Blaine absorbs this new sensation on his skin, trying to give adequate words to it "… I'm being digested?"

"Isn't that what saliva does, too?"

"Yeah, but I don't feel it."

"Do you want me to stop?"

Another pause on Blaine's part while he thinks. But then he shakes his head. "No. Continue."

Kurt strokes slowly, still squeezing, his mouth following, drenching his husband's cock in spit and grapefruit juice. Once there's a sizable pool of juice beneath Blaine's ass, Kurt decides he's done with slow. He gets his hand and mouth moving … and the real fun begins.

"Oh … oh _Lord_!" Blaine reaches out for Kurt, but remembering the grapefruit juice collecting around him, he folds his arms over his face to avoid splashing in the growing river of citrus. He spreads his legs wide, trembling as he uses all his restraint to avoid bucking up, but his abs and hips can't seem to stop rolling with tiny thrusts. It shocks Kurt how quickly Blaine went from a single moan to a writhing mess with a few strokes. Blaine loves a good bj, but he never gets writhe-y this soon after Kurt has his mouth on him.

Kurt deduces it can't be the grapefruit alone. It has to be a combination of the grapefruit and his mouth.

Because Kurt refuses to be jealous of a grapefruit.

"Oh … oh, yes … oh _God_!" Blaine continues moaning loudly while, in the meantime, Kurt's mouth is beginning to suffer its own effects of the grapefruit technique.

Kurt loves giving Blaine oral, but he's finding it difficult to lose himself to his husband's delicious moans and his particular, clean and masculine taste. The experience, for him, is becoming increasingly uncomfortable. For one, Kurt thought his lips were more moisturized than they are, and that he'd healed up from the time he'd bitten a single taste bud while eating his chicken salad.

Both assumptions were blasphemously incorrect.

He sees that now.

But aside from the burning in his mouth and the now watering of his eyes, there's another obstacle to Kurt abandoning himself to the joys of this sexy practice.

The noises.

Not Blaine's noises.

The grapefruit's noises, compounded by the constant _crik-crik-crik_ from the plastic sheet beneath Blaine's body.

There's a fair amount of adolescently amusing flatulence-like sounds coming from the grapefruit, and as for the juice – there's a ton of it. Unless the aim is to provide fresh squeezed for your friends, family, and neighbors, a bit of finesse is required.

At the moment, Kurt doesn't possess said finesse.

Fuck the plastic sheet. He's squirting grapefruit all over the place. The rind of the fruit, slicked up with juice, has gotten difficult to hold on to, the iron grip Kurt has to use causing his hand to cramp.

In between his slippery hand, the squelching noise, and the squirting juice, Kurt can't help himself. He giggles.

"Wha-what's wrong?" Blaine asks self-consciously.

"Oh, nothing. It just struck me that I'm using you like an orange juice squeezer."

Blaine chuckles, but he moans again the second Kurt's hand continues. But at this point, his mouth begins to feel like he's sucking on a cob of corn covered entirely in bees, and he comes to a full stop.

"Hold up, hold up," he says, pausing to give his lips a rest, but Blaine doesn't, hips snapping up in earnest, searching for contact.

"No!" he whines. "Don't hold up! Not now! Keep going! Keep going!"

"Blaine, sweetie, my mouth is on fire!"

"Okay, but, can't you keep using the grapefruit?"

"I could, but I think I'm getting tendonitis!"

"What? No! Kurt!" Blaine whimpers. "I'm sorry but just a little bit longer? _Please_!"

"So what you're saying is you're enjoying this?" Kurt asks, mildly bitter that Blaine doesn't seem at all concerned about Kurt's aching wrist or his rapidly swelling lips. He's going to look like Kylie Jenner after this is done, and not in a good way.

"Oh …" Blaine clears his throat, but he doesn't stop thrusting. "I'm sorry if I was at all unclear - _don't stop_! Whatever you do, don't stop, or I'm leaving you right now!"

"Oh! Okay!" a startled Kurt squeaks. He can't be angry at Blaine. _He_ started this.

Well, technically, Isabelle started this. Kurt's just going to finish it.

Kurt rolls out his wrists, shakes the pulp off his hands, and ups his game, moving the grapefruit faster. It sounded like Blaine was close – _very_ close – so if Kurt can put up with the pain for a little bit longer …

It doesn't take long for Blaine to cum after that. Record time, actually. And when he does, with the grapefruit half resting at the base of his cock reminiscent of a little hula skirt, the scene looks somewhat ridiculous. Not sexy at all. Like a fountain, Kurt thinks, and he almost has to get up off the bed and go into the bathroom to keep from ruining Blaine's orgasm. But he stays, moving to the edge of the bed out of firing range, massaging his wrists while Blaine finishes. Kurt would have helped him through it, but his hands had reached the end of their line – a noble sacrifice considering that after this, he has to type up a review of this technique. Try as he might, he can't seem to find a voice-to-type program that's willing to properly transcribe anything NSFW.

Kurt waits till the last of his husband's grunts subside, then he asks, "How do you feel?"

Blaine lowers his arms and blinks his eyes, watching his husband try to find a comfortable spot closer to him amidst the mess.

"Amazing considering I'm floating in a puddle of grapefruit juice. God, that's going to be sticky later. And what about the pulp?" He peeks down at his cock, but all he can see is a limp lump of flesh stuck inside a thoroughly demolished grapefruit rind. "Where did _that_ go?"

"I'd … rather not say," Kurt replies. From his original vantage point, he'd spotted the pulp, which had pretty much replaced Blaine's pubic hair, and will more than likely be a bitch to pick out. "The good news is citrus is great for the skin. It clears up acne and lightens dark spots."

"You work for _Vogue_ , so you should know." Blaine sits up, the liquid on the bed sloshing with the movement.

"Well, in my _expert_ opinion, it seemed to me like you were really enjoying yourself."

"Maybe," Blaine admits with a sly smile on his face. "But it's too bad, you know."

"What? What's too bad?"

"You mean to tell me that all that time I spent pining over you back in high school, I could have been fucking a grapefruit?"

Kurt bites his lower lip, grinning at his hands as he busies himself licking grapefruit off his fingers. _Pining over him_. Even after all this time, all these years of being married, the idea of Blaine being in love with Kurt in high school and Kurt not knowing it makes butterflies dance in his stomach. "I guess so."

"That's unfortunate." Blaine starts helping Kurt with the other sticky hand, hoping that might lead to another blowjob – this time in the shower. "We should make up for lost time. Sans citrus."

"Could I, maybe, get you to wear your old uniform?" Kurt asks, blinking up at his husband with deceptively shy eyes.

"I think I can do that. But if Isabelle finds out, she'll make you write another article."

"I won't tell if you won't."


End file.
